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Her sandpaper melody engulfs me,
Stinging at my age-old scars,
The scars still soft even from the yester years,
Her bitter, regret-filled words,
Twist the charred remains of my heart,
And fill my unpredictable eyes with white-hot fury.

Yet, oblivious she sits,
Eyes glazed, head bowed,
Her favourite scent lingers,
As she takes yet another sip of passion,
The passion that ignites the fire,
The fire that still burns at my asbestos heart